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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25007821">Nameless, Named</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrodrethTheTraitor/pseuds/OrodrethTheTraitor'>OrodrethTheTraitor</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:15:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,936</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25007821</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrodrethTheTraitor/pseuds/OrodrethTheTraitor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tales told by those who are rarely heard from.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Andreth at Mid-Life</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>People used to think she was very wise...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Dorthonion, F.A. 409</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>She was forty-six today, the woman who had once been thought wise realized as she woke. Strange that her beloved Aegnor still dreamed; usually the slightest noise or movement would awaken the Elda. Sleep would not return, so she looked in on little Ingoldo. Her son slept with the peace only children could know. At eleven, he seemed so small to her, though Aegnor thought him large for his age.</p><p>Andreth no longer wondered whether she had made the right decision, though she did wonder at the continued unwillingness of others to accept it. The disapproval of the Elves had been overwhelmingly uniform; only Angrod had supported his brother. Finrod, so honored by so many, had practically renounced Aegnor upon their marriage, threatening to strip him of the co-lordship of Dorthonion as punishment for this brazen flouting of ancient laws and customs. Aegnor had laughed uproariously at the mention of <em>that</em>, and the brothers had not spoken since.</p><p>Her own people had cared little. They had not visited her since she had departed, and she doubted she was missed. Indifference stung more than disapproval.</p><p>But it was all worth it, for none of the scornful or indifferent had the love of Aegnor or Ingoldo, and she did. She examined her face in the mirror. A few lines had appeared, but Aegnor did not seem to notice. She doubted not that things would change as she aged more dramatically, yet Aegnor had told her not to worry.</p><p>"Mortality or immortality means little in these lands.", her husband had said. "Morgoth does not sleep. We could all be slain tomorrow." These dark words were somehow comforting. Aegnor's acknowledgement of his own possible death allowed them both to accept the certainty of hers.</p><p>Yet Andreth hoped that at least time would be granted them to watch Ingoldo grow up. The child appeared more Elven then Mortal. He even had a bit of the luminescence of his scornful uncle, seemingly in Finrod's despite. Husband and wife often laughed at this.</p><p>Elves did not come of age until their fiftieth year, and Aegnor had indicated that Ingoldo must be bound by this custom if he were to be accepted by even the most tolerant of the Eldar. Andreth wondered, would she live another thirty-nine years to see that day? With luck, she could. Many of her forefathers had seen their ninetieth birthdays.</p><p>So the Lady, once thought wise, smiled as she watched the dawn.</p><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="clear">
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="clear">
  <p> </p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Andreth lived from F.A. 363-455, so 409 was her midpoint.  Ingoldo was also the mother-name of both Arafinwë and Finrod.  </p><p>Obviously this chapter is AU...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. An Ally of Lightning, Once</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A Vanya reminisces.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>The tales of Tulkas' deeds in the War of Wrath fall far short of the truth, perhaps because our language lacks the words to describe them. But I will try... </em>
</p>
<p>Angband had an outwall nigh thirty yards high, and at least as thick. Another, higher wall lay behind, topped by trebuchets that launched a deadly fire upon our armies - a fire that burned through mail and skin alike. All Mahtan's long labor proved vain, as Morgoth's fell fire consumed his armored siege engines as easily as it consumed the flesh of those who fought beside him.</p>
<p>No siege engine or living army that has ever been could have breached that double wall. But where armies were of no avail, <em>one</em> sufficed.</p>
<p>We drew back, just over a mile from the wall. Tulkas gave our captains a nod, then ran towards it without a word. My eyes could not follow him. Things happened so very, very quickly. Unbearable Light exploded off the hated walls, followed in less than a breath by a Supreme Wind that knocked all off their feet and stunned many. Lightning and an earthquake the like of which none of us had ever seen or imagined followed swiftly upon their heels. The ground beneath us … I can only say it <em>shredded</em>; mighty crevices opened up and swallowed many of our soldiers. Those who were not so lost, could do nothing but cling to the ground in terror and wait for Arda to stop heaving like the Sea in one of Ossë's storms. Alas, few indeed of the Edain survived that tremor, for with it came a cloud of fiery ash that burned even Elven lungs.</p>
<p>When it had finally cleared, we saw a great gaping hole had been blasted through both walls. Tulkas stood unharmed and laughing on the other side. The Elves lost perhaps a thousand men in those few minutes, but had we attempted to breach the wall ourselves - and we were preparing to try - we would all have died in the attempt. Tulkas' wrath killed so many of us that day, but saved yet more.</p>
<p>That is what fighting alongside the Valar is like, my son, insofar as I can do it justice - which is, to tell the truth, not very well. May you never have to learn it from experience.</p>
<p>
  <em>And of Namo's wrath I will not tell...</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>It's not clear whether Tulkas and Namo fought in the War of Wrath.  I like to think they did...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Two Months</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Arvedui's estel is rewarded.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>March, T. A. 1975</em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <em>Two months!</em>
</p>
<p>Two months more, Arvedui knew, and his company could begin the long walk back to Arnor.  A long walk it would be, for all their horses had long since perished - by various means.  Yet his men, for the most part, still lived.  The Lossoth had, in the end, behaved like Men. </p>
<p>And more than that, like <em>good men</em>.  Had they not given his people food, given them shelter, saved their very lives? </p>
<p>Seeds of friendship between his people and the Snow-Men had been sown in the long, shared hunts for game, that had fed all.  If his people had not known how to use a spear to bring down one of the great sea-creatures as they came to the ice-holes for a breath of air, the Lossoth had not known how to use a longbow to bring down one of the great white bears that made such hunts so perilous.  The worst of winter was over, and it seemed the seeds would sprout and bear fruit.<br/><br/><em>What more could one ask for?</em>  <br/><br/>One might ask the snow to melt in less than two months, so that he might rally whatever might be left of his kingdom against the forces of Angmar.  But <em>that</em> would be asking too much.  One might ask the snow to melt faster, merely to give his men a better chance to save the lives of at least some of their wives, children and friends - Kingdom of Arnor be damned.  That, perhaps, was not too much to ask of the Valar, but whether or not it was, still he must wait until the snow melted sufficiently for a long journey.  And <em>that</em>, the Lossoth told him, would not happen for about two more months.<br/><br/>He pondered these idle thoughts, trying and failing to concentrate upon sharpening the spear it was his charge to sharpen.  Ever he looked westward.  <br/><br/><em>And lo!</em>  Ships appeared on the horizon.  Soon, they were discernible as Elven ships of the Havens.  He would not have to wait for the snow to melt, for good fortune unlooked-for had arrived.   Amid the joyful shouts and cries of his Men, he recalled the wise words of his friend Mithrandir.  <em>Estel</em> he had ever retained, no matter the circumstances, and ever had he bid others do the same - for who could know what fortune Fate might bring?  And here, before Arvedui's very eyes, these words of wisdom, which he had heretofore doubted in his most secret heart, were proven true.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Nameless, Named</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The story does not end.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I cannot remember ever not-being.  Only being-within-stone, at the beginning.  It seemed good to me, cool and safe.  But after what I suppose would be considered a very long time by the few other speaking-beings I've met, I began to feel a strange emptiness.  So great it became, and with it my anguish, that I gnawed some of the stone.  This eased the emptiness, and so I understood what it had been.  Hunger!  The few other speaking-beings I've met were hungry indeed - they withered quickly, spoke no more, and returned to the stone.  Except for two, but I stray ahead.<br/>
<br/>
After satisfying my hunger, I discovered something wonderful.  The stone I had eaten did not return!  I had only to eat more, and I could move!  At first only slowly, for I found I 'tired' easily.  The few other speaking-beings I've met also 'tired' as they withered. Sadly, the stone that fed me could not feed them.  Though a few claimed to love stone itself, and even to be able to speak with it, they regarded me with great terror.  Only when they wearied could I approach and speak with them.   <br/>
<br/>
I suppose many Ages have passed in the world above, which I have never seen, since I last felt hunger or weariness.  But again I stray ahead.  Forgive me, I understand this thing called 'time' not-well.<br/>
 <br/>
Two speaking-beings I've met did not fear me.  <br/>
<br/>
One I knew long.  A strange fellow, he was a spirit of fire and did not eat anything at all.  Nor did he wither, although he did tire.  He seemed to expect me to fear him.  This was ridiculous; his flame was far too weak to harm me.  The only reason I knew I <em>could</em> be harmed is that once I'd come upon a place where the stone grew soft and too warm for my liking.  That I did fear - the only thing ever to set the feeling in me.  But once was enough to understand it - fear of ceasing-to-be.<br/>
<br/>
<em>The spirit of flame thought far too much of himself, expecting me to fear him!</em>  I shook with great breaths.  Laughter, it was - yet another new thing!  It pleased me, but it did not please the spirit.  His flame diminished somewhat, and he fell into sleep. </p><p>Many times I passed him by.  A strange sleep it was - he remained 'aware', and seemed to be waiting for something.  Whatever it was, must have happened, for when once more I passed the place where I'd met him, he'd gone.  Somehow he had made his own 'tunnel', leading upwards.   I saw him only once more, long afterwards.<br/>
<br/>
That was the time I met the other one who did not fear me.  He had been harmed by the spirit of fire, which I did not understand, since he was a spirit of fire himself.  I asked him how this could be, but he was in a great hurry to pursue the other, and did not seem to like being asked questions.  So he departed, saying only "Rockbiter, I have no time to explain things beyond your understanding.  I pursue my foe.  Farewell!"  <br/>
<br/>
Afterwards there was great tumult in the stone.  The two spirits battled, I suppose.  'Battle' I've been told of, by some of the weary ones, before they withered; it was what had driven them into my tunnels. </p><p>The hasty spirit of fire should have been more patient.  Had he told me of the deeds of the 'Balrog', I could have done him a favor and crushed it.  For I can move very quickly, if I wish.  And I'd long since grown stronger than any stone.<br/>
<br/>
But all that came to my ears long afterwards.  That and more.  Perhaps the hasty spirit knew what he was doing, though the tale I heard was strange.  A lot of trouble over a small bit of shaped soft-stone, which the weary stone-lovers call "gold."  The world above must be a very different place than the one I know.  I do not think I shall visit it.<br/>
<br/>
Yet I do think on the hasty spirit at times, for he gave me a great gift.  Rockbiter he named me.  I'd never thought to name myself, but his suits me, so I've kept it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>
  <i>"Far, far below the deepest delving of the Dwarves, the world is gnawed by nameless things. Even Sauron knows them not. They are older than he. Now I have walked there, but I will bring no report to darken the light of day."</i>
</p><p>  <i>"Tell me, who are you, alone, yourself and nameless?"</i></p><p>  <i>Gandalf and Tom Bombadil, LOTR</i></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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